


You can tell everybody, this is your song

by cloneclubdrinkstrolley (direwolfofhighgarden)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/F, Fluff, PRIVATE SECURITY AU!, SOCCERCOP!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:49:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/direwolfofhighgarden/pseuds/cloneclubdrinkstrolley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alison Hendrix is forced to meet with her personal bodyguard for an undisclosed amount of time, strange things begin to happen in the short amount of time they've been together, and Beth Childs couldn't be any more amused and curious by her client.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Private security, musicals, Alison being hilarious, Beth being adorable, ALL the happy Soccercop feels!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was most definitely inspired to write something, seeing as though I hadn't written anything in ages. I wanted to write something.
> 
> I had a list of AU ideas that could get me going, and this one seemed the funniest. Plus, I wanted to write a really happy Soccercop thing, nothing heavy at all.
> 
> And that is what happens when I start listening to my pop/musical soundtracks playlist and am feeling in a very particularly fluffy mood. NOTHING BUT WEIRD ALISON THINGS AND TOTAL GAYNESS. Yay!

“Donnie, please. I told you I don't need anybody, I'm fine. I didn't take 10 years of karate and self-defence for nothing!”

“Come on, Ali, I just want to make sure you'll be okay. I don't want to have to repeat what happened the last time.”

“What happened the last time, _Donnie_?”

What happened the last time was that Alison Hendrix, 4 hours after the time she was watching her husband depart for his business conference in Sacramento, California, got skittish and heard an unnerving noise. She'd closed all the windows, brought a baseball bat next to the door and braced herself as she became one kinetic motion of opening the back door, jumping in front of it, and hitting the mailman's face with the barrel of a gun pointed to his forehead.

It took Donnie countless hours on the phone to sort arrangements with the police, talk them out of having Alison detained for a night. After several more hours, Alison was allowed to leave, having spent time in the detainment cell and knowing fully well now that she would _not_ spend time in an actual prison cell if it was the last thing she ever did. She would have been fine if the stupid mailman hadn't used the back door, _for heavens sake, is that even legal_ , and he would have been fine if he was actually doing his job during regular work hours and wouldn't therefore have to be faced with hyper-reactive housewives such as Alison in the middle of the night to pick up his own slack of the day, but that's really not the point.

“I mean, nothing, you know. I just want you to stay safe.”

“I _am_ safe, Donnie. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it's a bit too much.”

If there was one thing anybody knew about Alison Hendrix, it was that she got tremendously dangerous when she started talking in actually _slanted words_. What was worse is when she started slanting words that _didn't need to be slanted_. That was when she was ready to sting somebody with pink, fluffy guilt or cut a man's throat open with a well-placed doily.

“Oh, I'm _sorry_ , Donnie. Excuse _me_ for not wanting to hire a personal bodyguard when I don't even _need_ one, let alone when we can't possibly afford one. I sincerely hope I'm not the one paying for this.”

“You're not, Alison, it's fine. My company's got it covered, alright? You're going to be fine. Right?”

“I'm fine, Donnie. Whether or not I do have a bodyguard, I'm going to be fine.”

“Good! She's going to stay around the clock 24/7 and if you need anything, you let her know. That's her job.”

“And if I need her to get out and _stay_ out will _she_ do that?”

“No, Alison.”

“Why can't she even stay in a patrol car anyway? I don't want another person in this house when you're gone.”

“I'm flattered, Ali, but she's not a cop, so she can't stay in a patrol car. Besides, that's not really nice, is it. Just let her stay, okay? Be nice or something.”

“Oh, I'll be _nice_ , Donnie.”

Most definitely, Alison was nice. If nice meant accosting the newcomer with various home-baked goods, various meals, and giving her glass after glass of wine, Alison Hendrix was the nicest person in the neighbourhood. Of course, there was a motive for this, Alison Hendrix never acted without a plan, and she never had a plan without having an end-game. Alison would get this girl drunk and sleepy, probably so incapacitated with food that her food baby will speed the inebriation process, and then she could do without having to deal with the girl for longer than necessary. That would have been the plan, if the girl who appeared before her upon ringing the doorbell wasn't so unnecessarily _attractive, holy goalie._

“Hey, I'm Beth Childs. Personal bodyguard?” The woman flashed a crooked smile, and though she spoke the last words hesitantly, it wasn't out of nervousness. It was as if it was out of habit, perhaps her way of making herself appear vulnerable and approachable... a very wise tactic for somebody who invades people's houses and ironically expects to protect them. A smart and attractive woman, Alison was still not entirely pleased with Donnie's decision.

“Hello, my name is Alison. Alison Hendrix. Are you familiar with my husband?”

“Oh, Mr Hendrix? Yeah definitely. He's your husband.”

“Uh... yes, he is...”

Despite Alison's evident stuttering and confusion, the corner of Beth's mouth quirked upwards and then grew into another great smile, showing off her fangy teeth.

“Ah, well Mr. Hendrix, your husband, right? I'd hope that's who he is. I wouldn't want to know who else gave you that ring if he wasn't Mr. Hendrix. Anyway, no, I don't know him. I work for companies who outsource security personnel. Anybody who needs me is my boss. So I work for his company, and his company assigned me, but I haven't met him."

“Well what if it was my maiden name?” Alison blurted out her thoughts quicker than she would have liked, and if it were any other situation she would have kicked herself for her poor manners. But this was different.

“I don't think it is, Alison.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Well...” Beth paused as she looked at Alison, seeming to consider whether or not she should venture into her speculations. After another brief moment, she gave Alison a quick appraising look as if this helped her make her decision. “You wear your ring even in the house, and judging by how the skin on that finger is a bit swelled up around the ring, it seems like you rarely take it off. You wouldn't wear your ring that often if you actually went to the trouble of keeping your maiden name when you got married.”

Alison glared at the woman, half parts impressed and defeated, and the other part utterly suspicious.

“Okay, then.”

Beth grinned again, her entire expression was mischievous and reminiscent of a child who was beginning to recognize their debating abilities and knew they'd actually won against an adult. She was still standing at the doorstep, waiting for Alison to let her inside the house. Alison had her own plan in mind, seeming to not want to lose to the woman.

“So how do you know I'm married and not just engaged?”

Beth scoffed, “You live in suburbia, there's really no need for deduction for that one,” her voice broke into melodic laughter as she spoke. _Why did even that have to sound musical?_

Alison still stood with her body blocking the entrance, unaware that she was actually doing this. Beth leaned up against the threshold and crossed her arms.

“Anything else?”

“Do I have children?”

“No, because you guys own a Benz.”

“Now how the dickens did you know-”

“You've got the keys hanging right there.” Beth looked pointedly at the sets of keys that were hung up near the coat hooks and the shoe racks. _Oh, touché._

She spoke up again, interrupting Alison's train of thoughts. “You know, you really shouldn't have those there anyway. Anybody could come up to your door, ask you if you have time to hear the holy word of our lord, or if you're willing to buy a truckload of girl scout cookies and they can totally pick you out as the rich type. Then, bam, you're not calling me, you're calling the police because some silly bastard decided it would be worth it to rob you.”

“We are _not_ rich.” Alison, despite herself, cringed outwardly at the woman's crass language.

“Well you gotta be pretty damn important then if you needed a personal bodyguard.”

“I'm not important, and I didn't need a bodyguard. My husband insisted. He doesn't want to have to deal with any more mishaps, he doesn't actually care for my well-being.”

“Well, it looks like he knows to protect a good thing when he has one.”

Alison began to protest and make a snarky retort when she stopped herself in her thoughts. _Now hold on just a second, are you flirting with me?_

“So are you gonna let me in or am I going to sleep in your doghouse?”

“I don't have a doghouse.”

“I meant your garage.” Before Alison could interrupt her and ask her about _this_ damn speculation, a mere judgement call more than anything, Beth beat her to it.

“You park your caravan on the driveway when everyone else has theirs in the garage. That's a most misplaced thing to do in suburbia, and _at night_ , no less! Your hubby's man cave, or doghouse, is probably the garage. But I'd be cool if I just slept on your couch. It'd be a nice change to not have to sleep outside tonight.” Beth huffed lightly at her humour and Alison spotted the air of her breath as Beth inhaled and exhaled.

Her manners finally kicking in after a gruff welcome, Alison let the woman in with some guilty shame and more uneasy resignation. When she entered, Beth's eyes roamed the residence quickly and casually, and Alison would have missed it entirely if she wasn't watching the woman's every move as she was. She could see Beth's thoughts spinning into a tornado of information and Alison decided to let it go before it unnerved her even more.

“So, Beth, would you like some dinner?”

“Yeah, that would actually be great.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, I'm perfectly fine with some chicken and rice. It's not like I haven't lived off of Chinese takeaway for the last few years of university.”

“Oh, you're a student?” Alison placed more dishes in front of the girl, who seemed to have been looking up at Alison and talking as if there were towers and skyscrapers obscuring her view, which it might as well have been with the amount of wine bottles Alison set down in front of her.

“No, I was a while ago though. I won't date myself for you to know, but I've been doing this for just a bit. I think I like it.”

“You like invading people's private lives and living in their houses?”

“Hey, I ring the doorbells, I don't break windows. I'm here to stop that from happening. Besides, I like meeting new people.”

“This is an awfully strange way of meeting people.”

“I think it's the best way, you really get to know who they are when they don't have a face on.”

“I think everybody has a face...”

“No, like, a public mask. People take it off when they get home and unwind. You've yet to do that, you're so high strung.”

“I am not _high strung_.”

“Your wine bottles say otherwise. Like damn, is this one from France?”

“Yes, that one is.”

“Shit, maybe you shouldn't invite a Bible crusader or a girl scout into your home for dinner, then they'll really know you get all the good stuff right from the source.”

“Would you like any more?”

“No, I'm really fine, actually. I can't do my fighting sequences when I'm rolling around like kung-fu panda instead of karate kid.”

Beth reached for her glass and Alison moved swiftly to refill it, almost having it spill onto the table.

“What's the plan? Trying to get me drunk?” Beth shot her smile again, still as flashy as ever even after all the food Alison practically shoved into her face.

“No, definitely not.” Alison smiled curtly as she poured herself a glass of wine, and Beth waited expectantly as she leaned across the table. Alison froze in her place, not knowing what the girl was doing, but was interrupted before any unacknowledged thoughts could manifest themselves.

Beth tipped her glass slightly, and Alison knew she was waiting for Alison's glass.

“Did you know that people clink their glasses together because they wanted to slosh their drinks and have them in the other person's drink? To make sure that one of them wasn't poisoned, it's like a double whammy. Extra security and all.”

“Do you think I'm going to poison you?”

“You don't need to poison me to get my attention.”

Alison was almost waiting for it, almost waiting for the somewhat inevitable, or maybe she just thought that, comment. She was waiting for the underlying remark, the “You don't need to poison me to get me into bed.” Alison's eyes widened imperceptibly and she drank her glass in one go, hoping Beth wouldn't be eyeing her, but of course she was watching her.

“Whoa, slow down. If you wanted to poison me, you don't need to get yourself first.”

“I have the guest room ready, all the linens and personal articles you need are there as well. You didn't bring a bag with you, so I'm not sure if you have one or not. I have some clothes for you too that you could use, they may be a bit too much of a snug fit for you, but I suppose it could do.”

“Oh yeah, I do, don't worry. You keep a spare toothbrush?”

“You never know!”

“Aha, wow, okay. Well, I hate to break it to you but I've got my own bag in the car, and I won't be sleeping with ya in the guest room.” Alison's entire body stiffened and whether or not Beth noticed, Alison was too unarmed to want to know.

“I'll be fine with sleeping on the couch, I told you, and I really meant it. You don't need to do anything, I'll move it all myself. You just get some sleep, alright? It's probably really late for a suburban housewife.”

“I don't have a bed time.” Alison, in spite of her recovering from the offhand, most likely unintentional comment, still had time to refute Beth.

“Well, I'm glad for you.” Beth laughed easily and leaned back in her chair, the wine was perhaps getting to her, but Alison most certainly doubted that much.

“Thank you for the food, Alison.” Beth stood up and grabbed her plates, Alison immediately standing up, perhaps too quickly as her chair almost fell back, and she stretched out to cover all the plates, her hands hovering over nowhere in particular as she reached in vain.

“You don't need to clean up, you can just get yourself ready for bed.”

“No, no, please, I have to do something. I feel like you won't be giving me much trouble for the time I'm here, and nothing much will happen. I gotta do something around here.”

Alison reached for Beth's arm, imploring the woman to stop. She acted before she could think, and she couldn't retract her palm from the woman's warm skin. _Good heavens. Why?_

She stuttered for words, sincerely hoping Beth wouldn't notice her struggle, but she probably did. She truly hoped that her touch wasn't beginning to sweat on Beth's skin and shake idly, but it probably did. Beth looked at Alison with something different in her eyes; it wasn't her goofy grin or the ridiculous smirking her eyes seemed to do for her. There was _something_ , but Alison couldn't place it, as it was a fleeting moment.

“Alright, just let me take my plates then, and I'll leave you to it.”

“Yes, okay.”

When Beth placed her plates and glass in the sink, she gave Alison another reassuring smile, something still sitting in her eyes, before she headed up the stairs. When she left, Alison let out a long breath, not realizing that she'd been holding her breath for however long she did.

_Fff- Fishsticks. What was going on?_


	3. Chapter 3

Alison couldn't help it, she never could. When she was a teenager, she couldn't help it, and even now years later, she still didn't want to help it. Musicals get to her. They get her. And if the tears were any indication of that, then the waterfall of snot and laboured breathing meant the musicals mostly had all of her today.

_You were once my one companion_  
 _You were all that mattered_  
 _You were once a friend and father_  
 _Then my world was shattered_

That's it, that's where Alison lost it. That's where, proverbially and perhaps quite literally, Alison lost her shit. There she is, there's Christine, wandering around that snowy, barren graveyard.

_Wishing you were somehow here again_  
 _Wishing you were somehow near_  
 _Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed_  
 _Somehow you would be here_

The snot! The SNOT! Alison long ago resigned dejectedly from taking tissue after tissue from the box and was now surrounded by her crumbled masterpieces of snot-musky tissues. Any other day, of course she would have been disgusted by her lack of etiquette and general negligence of hygiene. But there was Christine, _can you see the LOOK on her face? She's devastated and completely devoid of EVERYTHING_. Still empty and left with nothingness, she still has her pain. And the cinematography really brings it home, it really takes advantage of perspective and makes Christine seem so small, and that's what kills Alison. It was far too much for her. And still, she kept watching the damn movies over and over again, because she _must_. That was her, that was her entire being. The Phantom waits for no man.

“Hey, are you alright?”

That wasn't part of the movie. This wasn't the pirated version like the movies Ramon often sold. Where did that come from?

_Too many years fighting back tears  
Why can't the past just die?_

THERE. The big symphonic bang! That's when the whole orchestra comes in, just out of nowhere, like a preying panther. As if the shot to the heart wasn't enough, the orchestra decides to come in and rip her already bleeding heart out of her chest with the bare proverbial hand of musical genius, and made her watch it all. The emotion that's already swelling in her ribs just bursts and leaves the intestines bleeding into a puddle of beautiful, enveloping sorrow. _Amazing._

“Ali?”

“Huh?” Alison looks up, the somewhat familiar voice creeping into her awareness as her entrancing reverie is almost snapped by the very familiar nickname.

“Are you alright? I heard you sobbing whale tears from down there.”

“Oh, it's fine.”

Beth eyes the television and then looks back on Alison, a blubbering, weeping mess with general wetness streaking her face and tissues lying around her in rejection and total absorption. Oh. Now she gets it.

_Wishing you were somehow here again_  
 _Knowing we must say goodbye_  
 _Try to forgive, teach me to live_  
 _Give me the strength to try_

“So... uh... do you, need... anything?”

The segment ends and Alison's back, almost.

“Oh, I'm fine Beth, thank you. I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“No, it's fine. You didn't wake me, I don't sleep.”

Alison gave her a questioning look, with puffy tear-stained eyes and the giant king bed engrossing her petite frame which was dressed in a ridiculously pink outfit, Beth's lips twisted in vain as she tried sincerely to stifle her laughter.

If Beth wasn't standing in her very complementing bicycle shorts and a plain, equally fitting, perhaps even more flattering than the lower article of clothing (dear goodness, control yourself!) tank top, Alison may have actually been able to watch the movie with the same gaping attention she was giving Beth right now.

“You know, rules and stuff. But mostly my general code of ethic. I don't want to knock out first before the people I have to keep an eye on go to sleep.”

“That's a rather unnerving thing to say to me before I sleep, if you wanted me to sleep.”

“Hey, I'm paid to protect you. You have no reason to be watching _me_ sleep.”

Maybe I do.

“What?”

_Sweet merciful dickens above, please do not say that thought was vocalized._

“What?” Alison repeated stockily, her puffy eyes blinking rapidly as she swallows audibly.

Beth stares for what seems like a really long moment, to Alison anyway, because really fantastic musical scores apparently warp her time perception, and her smile breaks into the precious half-grin Alison was already becoming used to, endeared by, even.

Beth spoke slowly, perhaps still mulling over Alison's apparent lapse in judgement between the functionality of her mouth and her brain. “Well, if you need anything, just holler. Or like, bawl and cry, I don't know. Either way, let me know.”

“Good night, Beth.”

“Enjoy your movies, Alison.”

Alison shouldn't have been watching Beth slowly turn away, her hand on the door frame swinging her body around as she sauntered down the hall and down the stairs. Her eyes most certainly shouldn't have been where they were, eyeing every part of Beth's toned muscles ravenously, but it happened, and Alison let it continue to happen even after acknowledging what was happening.

The morning would have been more tolerable if Alison hadn't spent the night musing over the movie plot like a teenaged girl. If she was Christine, who would Beth be? If she could change the story to her liking, Beth would be Erik, with his not-so-twisted if you think about it, and utterly heartbreaking attachment for Christine, and would have Raoul's dedication and loyalty. Oh, but Leroux was an indisputable _genius_. Changing one thing would make everything so much more different, and any other bastardization of the story would be profoundly blasphemous, even in the realm of Alison's personal fantasies.

But why was she thinking of this anyway? She had no reason to pity Beth. She had no reason to believe she was in any sort of love triangle. Oh, but what it is to dream, that is what Alison Hendrix lives for, the dream, and the possibilities that could make the dream a reality. She had no time to muse over what was becoming of her thoughts, the French Revolution was waiting for her.

The morning would have been only a modicum of improving tolerance in relation to what her emotional and mental state was after watching The Phantom of the Opera if she didn't watched Anne Hathaway absolutely _slaying_ her role in Les Miserables. If she was blessed enough to be able to be given the offer, she would let Anne Hathaway sing her lullabies of murder if that's what she wanted.

Still, Alison could only think about Beth as the ever so oblivious, ever so naive, ever so clueless Marius, and she, of course, the ever so heartbroken, ever so in love Eponine. There was no shame in fantasizing already-made plots. There was a lingering sense of guilt and confusion in replaying Beth sauntering off, _showing off _her body in front of Alison, and Alison taking in every moment and trivial detail. But it was kind of hard not to feel the need to stare when Beth looked that good.__


	4. Chapter 4

Any hint of remorse that was in Alison in the late hours of the night seemed to have been obliterated completely with Westlife coursing through the kitchen. Of course, there really was no remorse for Alison, except the sad, heartbreaking reality it was that Beth Childs was a ridiculously, frustratingly, _entirely unnecessarily_ gorgeous creature just wandering around Alison's house in short, tight-fitting sleeping attire as she pleased. _So rude._ Rude indeed that Alison wanted to feel that burst of heat in her palms when she touched Beth, rude indeed that Alison wanted it all for herself.

It would have all been a total sitcom with Alison jumping around the kitchen while making breakfast in her sports bra and her work out gear, her hair put up in an unnaturally neat ponytail, wearing an entirely predictable pink headband with equally vibrant Nike Roshes. It should have been a movie intro for all that anybody cared, Uptown Girl playing at an almost ungodly volume at this equally ungodly hour of the morning, but Beth said nothing about it. Almost.

“Damn, what the hell's gotten into you? You looked like you weren't going to be rolling out of bed last night.” Beth eyed the bouncing Alison with bleary eyes, moving around the kitchen easily with pans, spatulas, various ingredients bouncing along with her. Even then, Beth had time to appreciate Alison's weird routines and habits.

“Good morning, by the way. And you're welcome.”

At this point, the band was singing about not being able to afford the Uptown Girl her pearls, and Alison hopped over to Beth, dragging her to the table as Beth rubbed at her eyes.

“If you're going to listen to this song so early in the morning, at least listen to Billy Joel sing it.”

“Oh, I will. That's on the next playlist.”

“Wow... okay.”

“I made breakfast, help yourself, I'll be in the living room.”

And after that, Alison skipped off, leaving Beth in the kitchen to consume Alison's elaborate breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, toast, omelets, salads, fruits. She heard Alison hopping around in the living room after a very generic sounding intro of what Beth could only guess as the intro of a workout video. Beth was right, in her very basic level of deduction prowress this morning when she encountered Hip Hop Abs on the wide screen television and picked up the video case.

“Are you really serious about this?”

“I am so serious, Elizabeth.”

Beth grinned again, having had time to recuperate from her far too early morning awakening and now watched Alison with attentive, observant eyes.

“How'd you know that's my name?”

“Nobody names their daughter just Beth.”

“Well, I could have been a Mary-Beth, or something.”

“Definitely not the case.”

“Why, did ya stalk me last night on Facebook while you sat through Russell Crowe's husky moaning about the French Revolution?”

“Hey!” Alison stopped immediately and stared squarely at Beth. “He is actually a fantastic singer, given that they all sang right as they were filming and didn't lip-sync to prerecorded tracks.”

“I didn't say that wasn't impressive, I just said he moans a lot and sings from the throat.”

“How else are you supposed to sing then?”

“From the lungs, from the diaphragm, I don't know. Not like you're singing with a sausage lodged in your throat. Great breakfast by the way, seriously.”

“That's a nice tangent to come from, I'll still take the compliment.”

“Good, you should. I don't know why Donnie would be leaving you all the time if you make great food, have a really weird, bordering on crazy attachment to musicals, and you have a killer body.”

_What?_

Alison gaped at Beth as the distance between them somehow closed. It was only after another instant that Alison realized it was Beth who walked up to her, their bodies barely touching and her breath almost on Alison's lips. She was so close, she could look up at Beth and gaze directly into her eyes, finally noting the light hazel colour and the various darker shades that tinted her eyes. _Incredible._

It was another moment before Alison processed again what was happening, but she moved in one swift motion, her lips contacting Beth's as the girl blinked in surprise, before returning Alison's kiss. It was chaste, it was soft, it lasted several seconds before they both broke the connection.

When Alison opened her eyes, Beth was looking at her with the same disarming look that Alison had seen the night before. So that's what that was. She still wore her stupid smile that always curled her mouth and always formed those stupid dimples around her cheeks. _Now that, was incredible._

Alison exhaled deeply, forgetting yet again that she'd been holding her breath the entire time.

“Do you always do that with your bodyguards?”

“No, you're the first.”

“Alright. Well, I like being the first, but I'd like to be the only one. Let's keep it that way.”

“Fine by me.”

There was probably no soundtrack Alison could place that would define that moment. She'd wanted nothing more than to feel Beth's hands on her sides, her exposed stomach aching with a different pain that long ago neglected the strain of physical exercise. Certainly, there were other kinds of physical exertion Alison wouldn't mind undertaking.

The only song that came to mind would have been the Elephant Love Medley from Moulin Rouge. Frantic, a chaotic amalgamation of thoughts and genuine emotions, so many different exclamations of love, of doubt, of new possibilities. That is what Alison craved, and that's all she could think about. If she didn't have her own musical or movie, if she would never be offered her movie segment she would absolutely, undoubtedly take this moment.

This is her singing into the sky, this is her freedom, her feeling liberated and careless. This was her dancing on the rooftop, fireworks and all, magic, love and excitement, Ewan McGregor belting out the words “We can be heroes”, and the symphonic choruses of “We should be lovers” with Nicole Kidman, and that is what Alison Hendrix thought about this moment with Beth Childs. Nothing but melodies, nothing but one grand spectacle of magic, nothing but dreams and possibilities and a reality that she could cultivate herself. Now that one dream was made true, there were so many other ways her story could pan out, and that's what Alison Hendrix lived for. Beth Childs was her completely unexpected muse, the faceless lover she'd always imagined when she'd dreamed about her own world in these musicals. How strange it was to think so differently in one night, and how so much could change in that same time frame. This was Alison's story, and nothing made her happier.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote and wrote, I actually had a lot of fun with this one. I just took a really small amount of fluff and ran with it. I made a very open ending too, not sure if I want to keep going with it. I'll see how I feel! Maybe I'll open this again and keep going.


End file.
